Occupy Texas
Robin Taubenfeld
75205 ... the zip code I grew up in turns out to have the highest percentage of people who donate to the Republican Party of any region in the US. University and Highland Park, white enclaves with their own police force and school district, surrounded on all sides by the rest of the city of Dallas.
I have been visiting Dallas regularly for almost 25 years, and yearly since the birth of my four year old daughter, to allow her to know her American family. We live in Brisbane.
In 2011, thanks to Facebook and a Qantas sale, we managed to be in Dallas for the start of Occupy Dallas. Never in my life as a Texan have felt so positive about Texas! In 2005, when Cindy Sheehan set up camp outside George W. Bush's ranch after her son died in Iraq, I felt hope. When I heard that a Peace House existed in Crawford, Texas, I felt gratitude. When I saw that Dallas was going to join the Occupy movement, I was actually excited to be going to Texas!
Texas − where suburban front yards proudly display "Welcome Home George and Laura" signs, abortion clinics get bombed, gun control is unpopular and peak oil has never even been heard of. Texas − where the creation museum is down the road from the dinosaur tracks ... and the nuclear power reactor. Texas − where the cars are bigger, the star-emblazoned freeways are loopier, the highway police are called Rangers, the border is patrolled by vigilante nationalists. I grew up with the pledge to the flag in the morning and prayers over the loud-speaker before lunch in my public school in Dallas.
So, as you can see, despite most of my family (and my oldest friend) living there and the wonderful big skies, Tex Mex food and great and diverse music, I am a bit down on the place.
Occupy Dallas
As Occupy Wall Street gained momentum, Occupy camps sprouted up all over the world. Brisbane was planning one, as were Sydney and Melbourne. I contacted organisers in Dallas; I subscribed to the 'chat room' and looked for a way I could be involved. I figured that being there with a small child and really wanting to prioritise spending time with our family meant I would probably not camp.
Chat room discussion about whether it is OK to bring children to protests led me to want to focus on fun, family-friendly creative action. Chat room discussion calling Occupy Wall Street's demand for universal health care "problematic" baffled me. Of course, any movement claiming to represent 99% of the population would be full of diversity and contradiction, but at least it was happening.
The American people are doing it tough! Not by the standards of many in the world, to be sure. but by the standards that accompany the values and the system within which they live. The schools are terrible, the public transport is bad, university is out of reach for most people, health care and insurance are so expensive that people just don't have them, jobs are fewer. They may own things like cars and TVs, but the quality of life is poor. They are losing their homes and amassing huge debts, and yet some fat-cats at the top are receiving bail-outs and bonuses.
The "American Dream" is finally being exposed for what it is – an impossibility for most in a system designed to have a few at the top and a whole heap of people at the bottom. I think it is hard for Americans to articulate that capitalism – something they have been told so strongly is necessary for "democracy" − cannot bring about equality.
So a movement built up – not calling for the end of capitalism, but calling for an end to "corporate greed" and corporate involvement in government. It is a message that is much easier to digest than "we need to change the whole system". And if it is something that resonates with people enough to bring them together, it's a start, I thought.
The first day
My daughter Moonbeam and I brought several cartons of fruit with us to share with the marchers, a cooler-box on wheels, some trays, utensils, some first-aid kits, gloves, chalk, clown gear, costumes, sunscreen, water, and bubbles – all the things you'd expect us to take to a protest!
I spoke with organisers about cutting up and handing out the fruit we had brought. They were concerned that they had not got a permit for food handling and that this could be a problem. I suggested I could do it at my own risk. They also had no real infrastructure for moving things around, which was problematic for supplying food and drink for a mob.
So, armed with a stroller, a bag of stuff I could carry and a cooler with watermelon and a few things I could manage, we took off on the march.
Shouting 'Whose streets? Our streets', we marched to the Federal Reserve Bank office in Dallas. We walked the whole way there on the sidewalk! I thought to myself: I didn't help organise this so I should participate without too much criticism.
At one intersection where the police had stopped traffic for us, a man in a car was honking his horn while giving us the finger. I stopped and yelled at him and the police – he was disturbing the peace, we had the right to march. Another protester pushed me on from behind! Whose side are you on, buddy, I thought.
A few moments later, though, a group of protesters stopped in front his car and the noise stopped. The 99% does not have agreed-upon tactics, but we will get there, I thought.
"El pueblo unido jamas sera vencido!" I was very surprised that despite being in Texas, where 50% of the working population in Texas is Hispanic, the march only chanted in English. I tried to lead a few rounds of "the people united will never be defeated" in Spanish, but I think that as an unknown clown, pushing a stroller down the road, I didn't have enough activist cred to get a following. Fair enough, I thought, I am not yet part of the community. I will lead a chant another day.
The rally at the Fed was noisy, colourful and fun. By the time we got there we had found the other kids and parents and had formed a kid block. We spent most of the rest of the day with them. Blowing bubbles, sharing food, drawing on the sidewalk and dressing up, and giving out watermelon – which didn't last long. They were Hispanic, Black, White, mixed, young, idealistic, smart, caring, aware and interested in changing the world − and they were in Texas!
For me and Moonbeam, the day ended there. The kids were tired and Moonbeam slept. Later that day, a General Assembly was held, the protesters agreed to camp in John F. Kennedy Plaza and the Occupy Dallas protest camp was born. Over the next month, Moonbeam and I spent as much time at Occupy Dallas as we could.
Protest camp
A protest camp – especially a camp that claims to represent the 99% − is a microcosm of our society. Even the utopian ideals held by some could not be expected to negate the violence of the culture within which we live, the experiences of the past we carry with us, our fears and our prejudices.
There were arguments. Should we feed the homeless? Do kids have to wait until the General Assembly meeting is over to have dinner? Should we try to get a permit for the camp? How should we deal with violence and aggression in the camp? Whose way is the right way? Is pacifism co-option? Is damage to property acceptable? Is violence an inappropriate response, and so on.
There were terrible things: there was pushing, yelling, stealing, reports of adults taking advantage of minors, sexism, racism, and more.
But still the fact that people were trying to build a community to change their world was wonderful.
Workshops were held, skills shared, politics discussed, a functioning library set up, a kitchen established. And yet, the rules of engagement were constantly evolving. There were power-plays and intrigue and the camp, meetings and actions were disproportionately male and white. Despite tensions − and serious problems – there was hope and there was love.
Occuplay!
My favourite part of Occupy Dallas was Occuplay! − an initiative set up by parents to facilitate child-minding and child friendly activities. Lovely people donated toys, bubbles, costumes and a tent and a few dedicated adults ensured that things got going.
Passers-by would see the children playing and come by to see what the Occupy camp was all about. It was joyful, friendly and inclusive. On one day a woman's older daughter was sitting in a circle playing the guitar and singing with 10 or so others, while her younger daughter was running around with Moonbeam, climbing on public art and chasing bubbles.
Food and snacks magically appeared by the goodwill of the public − enormous pizzas, gigantic chocolate chip cookies with 'Occupy Dallas' written on them, fruit, water, snacks. Every day at lunch time, Hare Krishnas provided a vegetarian buffet free-for-all. At these moments, I thought "this is how life is meant to be" − caring, sharing, building community based around common dreams, goals, aspirations, creative resistance.
In the land of the free and the home of the brave, Occupy provided a rallying point for the disenfranchised – people who had lost their businesses or homes or both, the chronically homeless, the educated poor, veterans, unionists, greenies, animal libbers, socialists, anarchists and questioning!
Occupy Chase Manhattan
The most exciting day for me was the blockade of a Chase Manhattan bank in downtown Dallas. People were linking arms, chanting, making street rhythms by jumping up and down on the street vents. Briefly the stroller brigade formed part of the blockade as the children drew pictures and blew bubbles. One line of people became three and the chant changed from "Show me what democracy looks like" to "show me what revolution looks like" − and I was so proud to be in Texas!
Many were arrested that day − police officers charged the blockade and then lined Main Street. Protesters' hands and feet were tied with ziplock plastic cuffs and they were carried away – painfully. Moonbeam and I and the other parents and little children stood across the street near the police van and yelled, chanted, sang. We shouted solidarity messages to the arrestees and derision at the cops. We were angry. It is our job to make noise and question the role of the police as tools of the state. When the police line Main Street and arrest your friends, you have first-hand experience of what "democracy looks like" in the USA.
Americans are famously patriotic. Like Australians, we are taught the history of the "founding fathers" of our nation, with little reference to the existence of the first peoples – or their genocide. In the glorified American narrative, to free our nation from the shackles of Great Britain, brave men refused to pay taxes, dressed up as Indians and threw British tea overboard ships, drafted documents that declared all men equal, and led a revolution against the motherland.
Civil disobedience, destruction of property, proclamation of civil rights and armed insurgence are the backbone of the American freedom story. The civil rights movement was able to play on the notion of Americans being equality-loving people to support its call for civil disobedience. Today, however, civil disobedience is deemed Un-American – or Un-Australian. Demanding civil rights is radical, destruction of property is terrorism and armed insurgence is unthinkable!
In one fell swoop, Americans were attempting to live in communities that reflected the change they wished to see in our society – or part of it – to transform the way we operate. Attempts at democratic and local decision-making and consensus were made – meetings were long and numerous. At the same time, anger and disillusion were driving the "rebel" spirit to take action, to resist dominant society and reclaim our culture.
So Occupy camps and the movement provided the opportunity for both activist training and social experiment. Our activist lore is full of famous words such as "There is no road to peace, peace is the road", "Be the change!" and "By any means necessary!" The struggle lies in finding the balance between gentle action to build community and potentially confronting action to bring about change.
Robin Taubenfeld is a member of Friends of the Earth, Brisbane.